Fable V: Beauty and the Ben
by Tigerdust
Summary: The longest fable to date is a return to the mystical worlds gone by, where an enchanted castle prince with a hard heart and a simple peasant boy with a sharp mind can fall in love. Another Ben and Michael fairy tale ala Beauty and the Beast.
1. Chapter 1

People often forget that there is a grain of truth in the fairy tales of old. Tales of enchantment and wonder, full of skill and magick, leave us with something more. They leave us with a sense of a world not just larger than ourselves, but one that is subject to our own exploration in a never ending quest to invent myth and understand fact.

Michael himself was no different from any other man who felt this primal draw to both myth and fact. He lived on the outskirts of a particular town with his old uncle Victor. The unenlightened townspeople whispered about fevers and maladies in the old man because of his immense genius. Truth was that yes, he was strange. He would not hunt animals and spent hours tinkering away on one of his many various contraptions. But the oddest thing of all was that Victor had not required his only living family to marry.

Michael was undoubtedly at the age and had many suitors of both the male and female variety. It was not a strange thing at the time, dear readers, as it has become of late. Uncle Victor would do nothing more to press the issue than to discuss what nice young people there were in the village. This general lack of enthusiasm displeased Brian, the most beautiful boy in town who believed that he truly deserved only the best in life, including Michael.

The truth was that Brian could have anyone he wanted. He was the mayor's son, a child of immense wealth and power, with all the good aristocratic breeding that his life allowed. He had faithful servants and many trysts, but availed himself of no love. He and Michael had been playmates once, but they had broken off with terse words. Michael hated those who vainly loved themselves alone. On good days, they were acquaintances and on bad days they were less than.

One can imagine then that Michael began to feel quite lonely in his little town. He would rise each day with the morning dawn, which he loved from the pure morning sun over the amber hills and all the way to the honking of the mallards in the nearby marshes, and go for walks through the bustling markets. Women with urchins crawling and running all about the place created quite a cacophony, but still Michael did not add to the confusion unless it was to kick a dusty ball back to some small, grinning child that perspired as the sun continued to rise.

Michael would make his customary walk to the town's only bookshop nearly every day. The bookshop was run by a harmless old man who could barely read anon, but was, in his younger days, a school teacher that had fled a New England university, although he would never say whether it was by choice or disgrace. Bartering books for food or sometimes lessons, Michael and the bookshop owner Drew seemed the only kindred spirits of the whole town, which was fine by Michael in some ways.

He would spend most of the day afterwards reading by the town's fountain and making casual remarks to townspeople as they passed. Lunch would be a little loaf of bread and some hearty cheese when he could manage and an apple when he could not. Learning to cook was not an inherent talent to Michael or Victor, so they made due with what they could and not much more.

Now let it be known that even in this somewhat type of poverty, uncle Victor was not the type of man to toil in obscurity. When he was not able to write introductions properly for his new devices, he had the librarian Drew ink them on onionskin parchment. When it was affordable, Victor himself carted out those same inventions and sold them for handsome fees and the possible promise of more to come. Michael liked those nights the best, visions of roasted legs of mutton spit by the fire danced in his dreams on the night he slept in the lonely house on the outskirts of town.

On one such occasion, uncle Victor did not return nor did he send a letter ahead informing Michael as such. This worried young Michael since they were so close and the worries intensified themselves on his brow when the panicked and intensely loyal horse Milady returned to the house without rider or cart and a wild look on its face.

Michael thanked God for a small moment that mud and not blood caked the hooves and saddle of the horse, but then began to worry. It was already a long autumn and it yet might be worse before it was better. Nights were cold enough with a dim fire, let alone the elements to bite at your skin unguarded. Michael packed quickly on his search to find Victor: filling his bag with bandages, water bottles, and traveling bread. He would not allow himself to prepare for worse.

The wind was beginning to whip as he left on his journey, the sun already lowering itself into twilight. Michael pulled his light blue traveling cloak tighter around his shoulders and tied it so that the hood stayed in the breeze. He coaxed Milady all the way back through the darkening forest until the mist was filled with the chill of night.

In the distance, Michael could hear wild creatures, but went on undeterred yet exceedingly weary. He didn't notice as the overgrown path became slightly flatter or when the bumps in the road became less and Milady stopped whinnying in complaint. Nor did the sound of Milady clopping over worn stones come to his ears until the mists unveiled a terrible and awesome site. Michael proceeded to climb down from his saddle, leaning over to pat the nose of the frightened horse.

"There, there," he stated in hushed tones as he hoped to also calm his own jangled fears. The wrought iron gate in front of them was tall and rusted, much older than Michael himself. Michael could never remember a legend about, or a map featuring, any such tall gate or premises behind it. But, at the very least, the castle would most likely be abandoned. Without care to the gate at all, it must have been for quite some time. However, there was one thing to be certain of. Uncle Victor's favorite traveling hat was lying on the other side of the unlocked gate.

Steeling his reserve, Michael led Milady forward, the gate clanging behind the pair. Michael had reservations, but picked up his uncle's hat and continued onwards. The castle itself was shrouded in mist and night, and in some ways that was for the best. It would have easily been the tallest structure in the land except for how deep in the forest it resided.

But, for as tall as the castle was shrouded in mist, it was even the taller when Michael began toward the outside staircase. Leaving Milady tied to sturdy branch of a long untended tree, Michael stood at the outside steps for a long moment out of fear. Stepping into the building, the door shut behind him. Gulping and hoping to give his moment eyes to adjust, Michael shouted out into the great and echoing distance of the tiered castle before setting his uncle's hat down on the small front table to the right.

"Hello? Uncle Victor, did you find your way here?"

There was no response except for a passing of the clouds in moonlight to give the room some hollow warmth through its large, stately windows. There were at least three levels to the place, all unlit and severely unloved. But, even in its state, the deep red carpets that cascaded about the place under wood and fine marble like glass still had a proud and haughty feel to it.

Trodding silently and looking this way and that, Michael called out still for uncle Victor. As brave as his uncle was, Michael could not imagine him traveling very far into such a godforsaken and rundown castle. He would have become lost except for the guiding hand of providence leading him to someone with a set of candles walking deep and lightly in the castle's inner chambers.

Michael followed the soft glow as it led him down the darkening hallways. He called out to the light several times, but the bearer seemed to be either deaf or just beyond his range of hearing. Either case became increasingly exasperating for him. Eventually, the glow of light began to disappear up a staircase, which looked as though it was dusty from a lack of use, excusing recent times. Dust from the center of the stairs had been swept along to the sides, creating small mounds that lay in shadows, moving past Michael as he followed the glowing light.

The only light he could see as he reached the top of the stairs, besides the pale moon coming in from a small barred window, was a motionless candlestick, shiny of pure gold and left in the room almost as a careless afterthought. However, the light of the moon and soft glow of the fire did nothing to hide the room and its dirty contents. The floor was strewn with hay and, unlike the other parts of the castle Michael had seen-did not have grand lacquered floors, rotting boards lay under rotten hay and black splotches of water stain.

There was a familiar cough that came from a corner of the room.

"Uncle Victor!"

Michael rushed to his uncle's side, finding that he was barred from him through a heavy wooden door that seemed locked and rusted shut. Once they were out, Michael thought that he might ask his uncle how he achieved such a trick. But, for the moment, Michael's focus was on his uncle and that menacing cough he had acquired. He was pale and shaking, looking for all the world as though a trickle of drool had frozen to a spot beneath his chin.

"You're freezing."

Uncle Victor didn't register Michael at first. His eyes seemed to come out of a cloudy dream before they could focus. "Michael? My own dear Michael?"

Michael smiled in return, watching his uncle begin to respond and return to life. "Yes, yes its me. I've come to take you home. You've had me worried ill."

Victor's face went more pale than Michael previously thought it could. "Home? Michael, forget me. You've got to get back there yourself. You've got a good head on your shoulders...you could..."

Michael's brow furrowed at his uncle's panicked words. "What are you talking about? I could never leave you like this, you've been my world! How can I get you out, get you warmed up a bit and headed for home...."

"How did you find me?"

"Milady."

Victor nodded slowly. "Of course. She's a good horse, she'll serve you well. She's strong and caring..."

Michael's voice tried to stay calm under the panic of his uncle's delusions. "You're talking nonsense. How did this happen? How did you find this place?"

"My only concern is you. You are my only family, Michael. You must...you must...you must go!"

Michael blinked hard, rubbing his hands against his uncle's so he might have a little warmth. "You're acting as though you're chained to this place, though you've been here so few hours. Let me get you away and well."

Victor shook his head. "He will not let me go. I trespassed. You must go, its a big castle. I will pray that he has not found out about you being here yet."

"Who, dear uncle? That mysterious man that led me with the candlestick and disappeared? I hardly think this is the time for jesting. You act as though this place is haunted."

A voice barked out from the darkest portion of the room, unseen in his entrance. "It is haunted and he pays the price for passing through these gates. Would you pay that price as well?"

Michael didn't turn to see that the voice had a body hidden in shadows. "Please, sir. He's sick. Find kindness to forgive him. He needs proper care. He is my family."

"Sentiment means nothing to me. He is under arrest for the crime of trespassing."

Michael's voice rose in anger. "Is it a crime to be lost or a crime to be old? You can't treat people that way, master of this house or no!"

Victor shook his head, pleading with Michael to try and leave him. "No, no Michael. Do not anger him. Run, go, get out! I've had many good years, I can face this yet."

The man in the shadows held curiosity, or possibly delightful contempt, in his throat. "People? How have people treated others for centuries long gone and for centuries to come? People do not understand courtesy as a person would, and certainly not in this destitute place. Leave your uncle, return to your country and forget the accursed."

Michael turned, startled for a just a moment that he was addressing shadows. "You hold such a low opinion of my uncle and I, dare that I would ever call you sir or good. You lock up old men for thieving your forsaken property? In my place, this is not a tone to take with travelers. There is nothing decent about it."

The voice in the darkness snarled. "There is no decency left in this place. Must I give a final warning before your soul?"

"He's sick, he needs my care or someone else's, at the very least. I love him deeply. Does love mean nothing here, even at the end of the world?"

The body of the voice must have shaken his head in the shadows. "Love? I shall show you the world's love, child."

The voice and body came out of the shadows. He was tall, startling tall in the low tower room. His robes were either cobwebbed or tattered, though neither mattered to Michael. He was almost shrunken from the invisible weight on his shoulders as he stooped very slightly. There was a darkness, hardness to his eyes. All along his face were scratches, some scabbed and others brightly red. He himself looked at the floor without extending his hand, merely keeping them in his robes as though he might freeze to death in a moment.

"Cruelty paid in kind, no love borne. I am master of this castle and you will now leave."

Michael tried to bear himself up, even though he barely reached the master's height. "No. Not without him. Or, at very least, a trade."

The master snorted. "A trade? A life for a life? Do you consider yourself worth so little?"

"No, I...." Michael thought a moment, setting his heart to resolve. "Yes, a trade. My value without him is not much and his value is far greater than my own. At least send him to a place with warmth that his old bones might revive."

"It is done then, but you will stay in this place forever. We will not touch hands for the deal, merely living by its creed."

Michael turned away from the harsh man and looked at his uncle, both tearing at the eyes. "You have said. Let him go."

Uncle Victor protested loudly as the master produced a rusty key from an inner pocket and dragged the old man down the stairs without giving Michael a chance to say goodbye. "No, you can't do this to him! He has a future, he has a life waiting....I....Michael!"

The master of the house barked at the old man as he flung him out the castle door and to a waiting carriage that seemed to move on spindly legs abject of a driver. "Michael is no longer your concern, old man. Go home, forget this place. It is better for all."

The master of the castle returned as Michael was finishing climbing down the stairs. His eyes were red from momentary crying in the freezing tower. "You really don't have a heart, do you? You wouldn't even let me say goodbye."

The master muttered underneath his breath. "The greatest cruelty will come yet, when you realize your sentence."

"What?"

The taller of the pair coughed. "I said, we will lead you to your room."

"My room? We?" Michael grabbed onto the door post, unsure as to what the master of the house meant.

"Did you really want to stay in the freezing tower, young Michael?"

"No."

"We will follow Emmett. It is too dark in such a late hour to navigate this place by ourselves."

"Emmett? So you don't live here alone?"

A soft voice with a rich accent began to talk from behind Michael, causing him to gasp. "No, of course he doesn't. If it were up to him, he'd have burnt this place down long ago. Save for us, you'd be searching for your uncle on such a pile of ash and rubble."

The master snarled. "That is enough. Take the young gentleman to his room."

The talking candle stick named Emmett shrugged, as though he were used to such chastisement. "As you wish, Master Benjamin."

The candlestick, Ben, and Michael moved silently along the corridors as though it were a funeral procession. The grandeur that Michael had once seen in the carpets and around the smoky ridges of marble and real wood seemed gloomier, more oppressive, given the nature of his term in the place.

Ben seemed uncomfortable with silences. "This place is now your home, such as it is. You may roam the house and grounds, except for my personal estate in the West corridor. Go no further in that damned place, I know not what magick has kept my will as such for these many years and what affect it might have on you."

"Why would that magick not be on the rest of the castle, Ben?"

Master Ben turned, causing Emmett to stop hopping along as well. "Benjamin. You will address me formerly when we eat together. I may be your warden, but neither of us will be barbarians."

Michael looked down at the floor, uneasy about taking such a tongue lashing and keeping himself from rebuking the bitter man. "It seems that we might reach a disagreement in that area, of your barbarity, if such a word exists."

Ben shrugged as he turned again and they proceeded on. "You will be come accustomed to it." Once they reached a blue door which seemed to have been made shockingly cleaner recently than the rest of the corridor, Ben addressed Michael yet again. "You will join me for dinner in one hour. This is not a request."

Michael heard the door slam behind him and he looked back at the empty space, blinking. "He takes my prisonership for granted."

"Lord, he takes everything for granted. You get used to it. He's just crabby. Well, he's always crabby and who wouldn't be of course, given the situation. I mean, if I can count the number of times I've wanted to scratch my nose...."

But the wardrobe stopped rambling on when it noticed Michael staring so intently, mystified or possibly on the verge of a hysterical fit. The wardrobe itself was a grand piece, made out of a sort of fake ivory with a real gold piping along the side, culminating on top with a cherub among its fleur-de-lis, the head of which was conversing with Michael.

"But, of course, I've always had issues with decent conversation. Its been so long since we've had a real guest. I'm Daphne, and I suppose that I'll be your wardrobe. Of course, I'm not sure what I have in this old wardrobe that would fit such a compact frame, but I suppose thats better as opposed to..."

Michael interrupted Daphne, the talking cherub wardrobe who seemed to waddle from inch to inch as she talked. "I'm not his guest. I'm his prisoner."

This took Daphne aback for a moment, although she recovered well. "That doesn't mean you can't dress like a guest, does it?"

Michael turned away, feeling drained. He found the tall window in the room to his liking, tuning out Daphne as she yammered on about the contents of various drawers and such. He noticed how high he was from the ground and how thick the glass was. It was frosted, too close to winter. Michael wasn't accustomed to praying, but he prayed hard and deep for his uncle and himself. Snow began to fall, whether a portent of good or ill mattered so little to Michael. He was trapped in either case.


	2. Chapter 2

Prince Ben, master of the enchanted castle, stood by the lit fire in the drawing room adjacent to the feast that had been prepared for the arrival of "the one" for many years now. Sometimes it was eaten, but most times it was merely left for long hours until it was cold and then simply disposed of. The meal could either be a symbol of hope or despair, more than anyone wanted to admit.

However, he had trouble standing for long without fidgeting. He began pacing, as though the fire was having trouble warming his bones, which it actually was, and playing with the clocks on the mantel, moving time backwards and forwards.

"Have you thought about what Debra the sorceress said?" Emmett ventured as he watched Ben pace back and forth. The question merely earned him a glare.

"I am many things, a fool not chief among them. But what is this, one last false hope?"

"But what if all hope is false? Should we dismiss it completely?" The talking teapot Lindsay spoke from her fanciful place on the table.

"I hate it when you answer my question with a question," Ben stated in a hollow voice.

"You're all just getting worked up," Ted the butlering clock chimed in from his place on the cart just outside the kitchen doors, "the fact is that this was chance. Michael had no idea we were here."

"Exactly," retorted Emmett with a large dose of sarcasm, "how could you see this as merely chance and not some type of predestination?"

"Because I'm a clock and predestination does me no good," Ted replied matter-of-factly.

"We weren't always this way, though," Lindsay stated, "Ben, you have to open yourself up at least to the idea of this. Time is short."

Ben sighed, stooping down and moving his face close enough for the heat that his eyebrows might have singed off, bathing his face in the light of swirling oranges and red. "I know. But, after all these years of being cursed...you know how he looked at me? He pities me and these scratches, this skin and bones hanging from my frame."

Emmett hopped over to the fire to light one of his wicks. "Excuse my impertinence, master, but might not Debra have meant for you to love someone much stronger than yourself? Certainly I am quelled by your might."

"What do you mean?" Ben turned to Emmett with a quirked eyebrow.

Lindsay heard a commotion of teacups moving about in the kitchen and popped in for a moment, still listening. Her voice echoed from the inside of the gleaming, marbled room. "What Em is tactfully trying to say is that, as master of this castle, as doomed as it may be, to have some sort of help meet requires that they be just as strong as you if not more so. When was the last time you met anyone as cranky or stubborn as yourself?"

"I..." Ben couldn't refute the evidence, but the feeling of hope burned hotter and more painful in his heart than the nearly roaring fireplace. "Bring him for dinner. I must...try to hope."

"Well, don't go straining yourself," Ted tossed out as he left the room, leaving a growl from Ben's throat in the dust. He returned moments later, though, shaking. "He...He won't come. He won't leave his room, his prison as he calls it."

Prince Ben's hope extinguished quickly. "What do you mean? He won't even take a meal with me? Am I that cursed? Am I that ugly? Tell Michael that he can starve for all I care! Trash this meal and do not disturb me further!"

Lindsay shook her entire body as if shaking her head. Sighing, she watched young Prince Ben follow the patterns of his own indulgent father to a tee as he left to sulk and brood in his private wing. She had seen many things in her time, but this last one would be saddest. Truly, Ben and Michael would be a match for each other if only they could learn to tolerate the other's stubbornness.

Emmett and Ted found themselves restless and talking after they had cleaned the feast away. They hadn't a need for sleep anymore, seeing as they were now household objects, but they still like to indulge in the pretense that the day could draw to a close and sweet tiredness to set in. Neither watched where they walked in the castle, as long as they steered clear of Ben's wing, for neither had a fear of anything in the place anymore save for that unholy spot.

"I think this Michael could be quite special."

Ted wasn't so optimistic. "I think you want him to be. What about the man Peter who came through? The drifter who threw himself out of a window, thinking he was insane? He was here with us a year and the Master loved him."

"You don't ever see the brightness in the world, Theodore." Emmett continued, "What you must do is to give this Michael a chance. Surely you were startled the first time you caught yourself talking in a mirror?"

Ted snorted a chuckle. "I remember being more startled when the mirror returned the conversation."

"Hello?" Michael's tenuous voice called as he popped his head from the doorway of his room, still dressed in his traveling clothes.

"Ah, you emerge!" Emmett was obviously pleased.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself. I finished my traveling bread and I was just going stir crazy..."

Emmett tilted his head back down the hallway. "Say no more and follow us!"

Michael marveled at the architecture all around them, obliging Ted for an analysis, especially of the arched buttresses aligning the suits of armor, which turned to glance at Michael without him noticing. He was especially impressed by the fireplace, once they reached the same drawing room where Ben had paced not but a few hours earlier.

"These, these crown moldings are fantastic! They're so reminiscent of Solomon's Temple...right down to the pomegranates in the leaves! And this fine sturdy table of what, golden walnut?"

Emmett chuckled. "You are so knowledgeable. I dare say your enthusiasm might be contagious."

Michael nodded. "Its my first time in an enchanted castle, but I think I can adapt well if the whole house is such a beautiful mystery like this room. Is this room a study?"

"It opens up into a dining room," Ted stated dryly. "You merely slide back this wall and the table doubles in size."

"Oh," Michael stated with deflated joy. He felt as though his temper had been hasty, even if he had still been hot in anger over his uncle. He was hoping soon enough he might be able to broach the subject of sending someone to check on him...although Ben seemed to be the only one in the house that was not an ordinary, useful object. "Well, I am here now. How does food work in an enchanted castle? Is it magick as well?"

"Hardly. Although, if Carl were to be believed, its an extreme act of paganism from start to finish." Ted stated dryly.

"Is Carl the chef? Is he not transformed?"

Emmett smiled warmly while lighting the top wick where his hair would have been. "Come young Michael and see for yourself!"

"Emmett," Lindsay turned and looked down from the top of the tea cart, "I just got my cups into the cupboard, if you could just..." Seeing that Michael was right behind Emmett, Lindsay remained breathless for a few moments. "Well, I'll be...you're the...hello. Forgive my manners. You must be young Michael."

"I am. Are you the mistress of the kitchen?"

"Hardly. Some days I'm not even the mistress of my cups, scamps that they are! But I keep the place in fine order until that day when we might become human again. But, I over talk myself! Carl over there is the real genius!" The stove itself gave a wave of flame up towards the ceiling. "But, of course, Carl has remained silent since the moment we were...."

Ted coughed loudly. "Alright, now that you've seen that the food is not magickally prepared, I'm sure we can find a crust of bread and cold water fit for a prisoner such as yourself."

"Don't be crass, Theodore," Emmett talked as he hopped from stool to table top, "if I have any say in the matter, and over time I'm finding that I do more and more, young Michael shall become a guest more than a prisoner, as used to be our custom. Carl, we would beg your indulgence for a genius dinner creation?"

Carl gave a flame of ascension as Lindsay's eyes lit up. "Of course! This was one of the finest places in all of the kingdom for a long while and our food matches any sumptuous tavern, ten to one. But we would beg your indulgence into the magick of the kitchen. Why not wait at our table outside and we shall come to serve you!"

Michael nodded. "How could I refuse such an enchanted invitation? Of course, I shall seat myself wherever you request, as long as a little food be present to sustain me."

Lindsay called at as Michael was led away by Emmett and Ted. "Little food? Trust that you shall have few meals as grand as this one!"

And that was more than true. There were ragus and souffles, more glasses filled with more different types of wine than Michael could even taste in one night. There was fresh fruit and blazingly hot soups and even a rack of fine lamb with a mint jelly as exquisite as jelly could ever be.

"I should never eat like that again," Michael swore low to himself as he stumbled out of the dining room, heavy with food.

"Many have said that. It is still good to hear though," Emmett offered as he bounced slowly down the hallway along with Michael's cadence.

"You will offer my gratitude to the kitchen, will you not?" Michael queried with good faith.

Ted smiled a soft smile that split from his ornate 7 and toward the 4 on the right side. "Carl will be cheered to hear it. Perhaps we'll receive a rare word from him in this decade."

"What I do not understand is how men become objects but the master seems unharmed."

Ted looked from side to side in an attempt to shake his still head. "He was more affected than any of us all."

Michael led into the story, sitting down on another mysterious staircase to god knows where. "What did happen here?"

Emmett thought for a moment. "It is not our sad story to tell as much as it is Master Benjamin's. The moral of the story, however, is that you never know when an enchantress will show up at your door and test your good will."

Michael tried not to let his eyes light up, seeing as how it was most likely a sore subject with the objects and master of the castle. "So it was a spell."

"Yes, a great spell," Ted's voice deepened as his soft eyes flickered in the candle light. He moved closer with reverence and fear, as though whispering would bring the enchantress back. "These many years. And soon it shall trap us without the key to our deliverance."

Before Michael could ask, Emmett interrupted. "Ah see! My compatriot denies his belief in the spell and yet he speaks so well on it! Let us sleep now and talk more in the morning before Teddy gives himself away completely."

Michael hugged his knees, using his overlapped arms as a sort of pillow for his chin. "So you guys do sleep?"

Emmett chortled. "We pretend. Its not the healthiest of hobbies, but our health is not something we worry much for these days!"

"I must ask one more question before I return to my sleeping chamber."

"Of course. We will help as we can," Emmett answered assuringly.

"What did Ben look like as a great prince?"

It was clear that both the clock and the candlestick had to think for a moment. Emmett answered first. "Its been many years since we've thought of it. There have been no mirrors or pictures in that same space of time and the mind, it wanders and rearranges itself."

"There is one portrait in the West Wing, but it is a more cursed place, as if any of this could be hallowed ground. Of course, I certainly would never go there myself, out of respect to..."

But Ted noticed then that Michael was gone, moving quickly in the same direction as the way his body pointed. He had realized at some point that they had stopped on the stairs leading to the West estate of the castle. And there was a definite marked change in the place, both the style and demeanor. The West estate looked more like it was torturing itself than any other part of the castle. The objects all had a unifying fear of that sector; Prince Ben saw to that.

An overturned velvet chair that nearly matched the shade of the carpet was the first indicator of how much the West Estate looked different from the rest of the castle. If the rest of the place was a facade of the prince's anguish, than even just the entrance to the west was enough to make someone feel as though they were peeking where they ought not to be.

The occasional mirror or reflective frame was smashed in. Perhaps what was more disturbing to Michael was how things were untouched or recently polished, such as the marble table with a small flower pot in it, an orange and yellow poppy growing up in the damp soil.

There was still not a sign nor snarl of Prince Ben anywhere. Michael had so many questions, so many things he wondered. Chief among them was about the west estate itself. But one thing at a time, Michael had to remind himself. He walked slowly, with reverence, through the carnage. And when he came to a large door, Michael hesitated in reaching for the large brass handles in the shape of frightening lions.

He noticed the blast of icy night chill before anything. It was an open room, possibly a converted low spire. The entire place had the look of an antique shoppe where broken things came to wait out their last days. There were shadows everywhere, any one of them possibly containing Prince Ben. Michael looked about quietly, content to turn and go in spite of the view of the cleared night sky. But then he saw it.

In the center of the room was a small round table with a sheer white cloth. On the cloth were two objects: a glowing mirror made of cool silver and a bell jar with a floating rose beneath it. Doubtless that this was the source of some enchantment, Michael moved forward uneasily. It was entrancing in its unusual beauty.

The flower bowed, already beginning to wilt. It had a strange golden glow that illuminated the dark places in the room, as if the shadows were afraid of it. Carefully reaching for the glass, Michael noticed how much his palms were beginning to sweat and his breath shorten. He ceased breathing altogether when the rose was free of the bell jar.

Still it floated, suspended in nothing but its own glow. Michael decided it was beautiful and despite all the warnings his mind could summon, he reached for it.

A barking cough rang out through the room, echoing in its harshness. "What are you doing here?"

"I..." Michael backed away from the table, trying to think of a lie quickly.

Ben snatched the bell jar and forced it savagely over the rose, as if the glow were going to contaminate the air. He glared at Michael with a might so frightening that Michael didn't notice he almost tripped over a chair that had been snapped in three parts.

"Well, what do you have to say for yourself? Do you even know what would happen if you touched this thing?"

"I didn't..."

"No! You didn't think, did you?" Ben growled. "I gave you one direction, one simple direction! There are miles and miles to this place, but no...you just had to...."

"If you'd let me explain," Michael stated in a warbly voice.

But Ben would have none of it. "Get out."

"Of the West Estate?"

"Get Out!"

"Ben, I'm..."

Ben advanced and Michael turned away, running without looking back. He ran past the large doors and overturned chairs. He skittered down passages and stairs two lengths at a time. He didn't stop until he had reached the front door, his drying travel cloak still nearby on the table. Sobbing and hysterically frightened, Michael ran out onto the snowy grounds. He couldn't whistle the first time he tried, but his brain kicked into gear the second time, out of desperation.

There was a whinny and neighing sound, followed by the crash of dull, dry wood. Milady came when called, her bridle and saddle already removed. But Michael didn't care. He threw himself up over the horse and they charged hard through the gate.

Hoof beats and heartbeats matched as they raced through the frozen night, the soft fallen snow making in nearly impossible to see which direction they had come from or sometimes even which trail they might be on. The buzzing in Michael's ears, the growls of warning from Prince Ben, caused Michael to lose track of his surroundings or the gray shadows that trailed him and his horse.

It was when Milady stumbled hard over a stony rock and Michael tumbled forward into the snow that he noticed. The snarl and growl of Ben was no longer in his ears, merely in front of him in the figure of a wolf pack leader. His eyes and fur were peppered black with salt grey. His claws were wild, packed with snow and blood. His sharp fangs bared and Milady whinnied in the night.

The leader's attack was a signal for the others. Maybe there were five, maybe there were more. All Michael could see was the way Milady was trying to protect him, trying to throw the bloodthirsty brutes off with her diamond-sharp hooves. But they were circling fast and Milady could only protect them both so much. Michael grabbed for a large tree branch, thanking God it was thick enough to do real damage and he swung hard, landing into the muscular side of a wolf. The tremor of force that went through his body caused him to hiss in pain. It felt as though his shoulder had just disconnected from everything else.

Michael lost his branch when a wolf came from behind, barely grabbing onto Michael's back and blinding him temporarily with his own blue cloak. He fought, kicking and punching. Teeth and claw tattered at cloth, Michael just barely squeezing by them both into a grove of trees. What little damage he had done had only enraged the wolves however.

Michael found his way back to Milady and held at her neck, closing his eyes and waiting for the spring of the winter carnivores. But instead of the snap of a jaw against his face or arm, he felt the whoosh of a fast breeze go past. Opening his eyes, he saw Ben in the distance. Or at least Ben's face and his exposed hands, shooting hard ice stones from a slingshot.

He was covered with a luxurious and yet functional snow leopard cape. He stood with legs wide apart, a fighting stance from the East. He fired twice more, hitting a wolf to the left of the leader. The leader noticed the attack and swiftly turned.

"Ben, look out!"

The wolves turned to avenge their fallen comrade, pouncing on Ben, who was ready with a long dagger. Michael hurried towards the struggle as Ben fell backwards, crushing the jaw of one with his forearm and all the force he could muster in a fall. A second, whose belly fell out, did stumble and howl, still trying to attack. Michael leapt on top of that one, blinding it with the remains of his traveling cloak.

At the end of the battle, Ben and Michael stood near from each other and yet far. Each was heaving hard breaths in the winter air, just looking at each other. There were rips in clothes and gashes along foreheads and Ben's arm. But it all proved too much for Ben, he had taken too much of the fighting brunt. He fainted into the snow.

Michael couldn't leave him, as much as he hated the thought of returning to that grand and yet mean-spirited master's castle. But Michael lead Milady around a hill, ordering her to stay. He found himself kneeling in the snow over Ben's body, shaking his head and muttering. It took an awkward moment to find the right way to drag Ben over to the horse without exacerbating the injuries. Michael groaned and struggled but managed the silent form over the horse, like a blanket would be carried.

The castle was in an uproar when Michael and Milady finally limped back across the unused gate and into the grounds. As tender as Michael's body felt, he forgot it once inside. He ordered a fire and hot water, some fresh linens to dress Ben's wounds with. No one objected. Ted tried to warn Michael that Ben would not like it, but Michael was sure that Ben would prefer dressed wounds to death or worse. Magic castle or not, the place was still defined by the laws of earth and nature.

Ben awoke with a lung-shattering deep breath. He first noticed that he was out of the forest and in his own bathroom, sitting in his clawed tub and surrounded by water tinged by already drying blood and who knows what else, anything that might have been mixed into that snow.

He noticed that Michael was there, preparing bandages in hot water with a great rip of white linens and he covered up whatever Michael had already seen. "You came back."

Michael turned, masking the gratefulness he was feeling that Ben was awake and breathing again. He didn't know enough about medicine to reawaken him. "Of course I came back. I wasn't going to leave you out in the snow. You saved my life."

"You should have left me out in the snow," Ben grumbled. Michael shook his head as he approached a bandage, plastered with medicine and hot water. Ben wouldn't let him near the arm. "No, you shouldn't."

"But you're hurt. And I did this in the war, even at a tender age."

Ben blushed as he looked down, aware that Michael was not blushing at his naked form. He let the fleeting thought that Michael might have liked what he saw wither away on the vine of his mind. "It's just that the spell, my blood is..."

"Still human. And I washed my hands as my uncle taught me. I will be careful, but you act as if there is a choice involved." Ben hissed, jolting back from the sting. Michael winced. "Sorry. It might sting a bit."

"Yeah," Ben gasped, trying to relax in the tub. His hand moved away from covering his privates as he realized what a futile battle it was. He let himself grip the sides and slide down a little, closing his eyes from the strain of dealing with emotion.

"Hey! I just got you awake and a fire started! Don't fall asleep in your tub. I don't know how to wake people up from head injuries."

Ben tried to relax less in the tub as he braced and winced, failing to put on a brave face when the medicine plastered into the deep wounds. It smelled awful, but he didn't mind. It had been too long since he had cared whether things smelled awful or not.

Michael smiled, looking around. "All done. Now, I think we've got..."

Ted entered, the coat rack not far behind. "Your robe, sir."

_Red must be his favorite color_, Michael thought as the crushed burgundy velvet robe with fine magenta trim was brought forward. Michael realized that Ben was watching him as he was being watched, almost as though Ben was convincing himself that Michael hadn't seen his entire body, bruised and needing care.

"Could you turn around for a minute?"

Michael shrugged. "It's not like I haven't seen it before."

Ben rolled his eyes, looking at the ceiling. "Look, would you just do what I ask without arguing? Thats what got us in this mess in the first place."

"No, what got us in this mess was you yelling at me while I was trying to apologize. Before you start calling me nosy, think about controlling your own damn temper."

Ben was about to argue when Michael acceded and turned toward the wall, giving Ben privacy as he stood and wrapped the towel around himself. Ben broke the silence after he was wrapped around and had stepped out of the tub. "What about your injuries?"

"I'm fine," Michael stated blandly.

Prince Ben put his hand out, firm and yet kind on Michael's shoulder. Michael turned back around to find Ben standing there. "I didn't get to thank you for saving my life."


	3. Chapter 3

Bitter cold and snow gave way to a luxurious midday white soon enough. And even a grand castle only has so many interesting features before any variety of occupants would like a breathe of fresh air. And Michael had to do something since nobody would give him any idea of where the library was.

They dined on porridge that morning, Prince Ben in unusually good spirits. Michael was still trying to figure out the polite way of bringing his uncle up, so as not to enrage Ben more than he had. Michael had noticed that Ben's injuries were healed, but that the scabs on his arms seemed to be a permanent part of his skin now. The ins and outs of magick seemed too complicated for him to understand.

Michael had never seen such pure snow in all his life. It mounded over fountains and floated on the air when the ottoman pounced on it. It was thick enough to stick when you nearly fell in what would have been a hole, but soft enough that you didn't mind. And the mugs of hot cocoa waiting by the door didn't hurt either.

The staff had spared no expense in making sure Ben and Michael had warm clothes. Michael's traveling cloak had been replaced by a fine blue jacket, slim against his frame but flexible enough that he could push a pile of snow off the top of the railing and not tumble over with it. Prince Ben had chosen another cloak, this one from an old mother deer who he said one of the staff had found passed away near the gate.

The early winter songbirds were out. They were not particularly pretty, almost a same hue of grey as the sky and yet they had a clearer song and more pretty notes to sing. They swooped down to Michael's fingers as he whistled his own note and landed on the snow, cocking their heads at the human. Emmett found some stale bread for them to feed the song birds and soon Ben and Michael were in a contest to attract the birds.

It was evident who they preferred, only because Ben's scowling face and impatient demeanor scared them off. Michael merely shook his head when Ben became cross and started to curse, coming over and putting his hand over the top of Ben's, guiding him in how to bring the birds in patiently. Truth be told, Michael's way worked too well. Pretty soon, Ben was escaping to the garden maze so that he could lose the birds.

Ben found the snow in the garden maze to be exceedingly fresh and packed it down into balls. A grin spread across his face as he playfully missed hitting Michael's shoulder with soft snowball. Michael noticed the snow whizzing by and ran to take cover behind a gnarled tree. Ben lost sight of him soon after, for Michael was wiley, and soon enough Ben found himself covered in snow while Michael looked over the top of the maze, having built a snow staircase and brushing the heavy topcoat off of the top of the maze.

The day ended with a lovely dinner of cornish hen and a strong jasmine rice, all set to candles and firelight. It was warm in the castle, enough that Michael just couldn't sit around. Ben, sensing the restless spirit, suggested that he might show Michael another part of the castle, but that he would have to close his eyes as he was lead there, for it was a surprise.

And indeed it was a surprise for Michael. It was the most beautiful library he had ever seen, as tall as all the levels of the castle combined. The walls glowed alabaster white. There were railings of real gold and the smell of leather spines permeating the place. There were globes strewn about in deep browns and a couple long tables in which to spread out selections. Michael could have hugged Ben in that moment.

Ben merely shrugged, afraid to bask in the radiant smile. "This was my parent's place, almost as sacred to them as their own dear chapel room, which I've closed down-all things considered. I hadn't ever had much use for this room. I never learned to read."

Michael's back was turned to Ben. He was still trying to take in the room. "Why did you not learn with such a place as this to learn from?"

Prince Ben shrugged. "I was never inspired and always indulged. My tutors were ever too afraid to lift their voices to me, a trait which did not bode well in the long run."

Michael turned, looking Ben in the eyes. "Well, I'm not afraid. And I would think anytime would be a good time to learn the joys of the printed word. We'll have a fire and find a book I know you'll enjoy!"

"I'm sure I would enjoy it more if you would read it to me," Ben broached later as they sat by the fire, on a hearth rug.

Michael hadn't voiced that, though he'd thought of it. "I would be afraid to. How else would you learn?"

Prince Ben tucked his knees under his feet, making himself more comfortable. As he leaned into the fire, his shadows warmed in orange and red, making his eyes strong and light. "I think I could learn anything from you."

And so it was. How much time passed? As much time as was needed to create love, which was not long for two men locked away together in a castle and only books to read between them. It came to pass that Lindsay noticed how closely they would sit, huddled together with Michael reading and Ben asking questions. It startled her the first time she heard a genuine laugh from her master. It had been even longer since that.

Something was changing in both Ben and Michael, but Michael always had the thought of his uncle in the back of his mind. If only his uncle could be here, could see the change...ah, well, Michael was never one who knew how to change what had happened. He only hoped the best for his uncle and that he was safe again, and not too worried about his own dear Michael.

There was one thing that Prince Ben was better at than Michael, other than long, awkward silences where he would stare off into space. Prince Ben could waltz. He taught Michael in the drawing room a few times, stiff and proper as an instructor should be. But not as he wished.

Later, Ben stood in his bathroom, looking at his face in jagged pieces of his mirror. His eyes were the same shade of blue they had always been, his bulked-up form more lean than he could recall the last time he had looked at himself...and yet, a smile. He wanted to tell Michael how he felt, how things were changing for him. He had encouragement and hope from the staff, even cautious words coated in hope.

Time was so short though. There was no doubt in Ben's mind that no other chances were coming and yet he was afraid. He didn't have solace in religion or even himself. He only had the spell and the long years of anguish in recent memory. This hope and warmth, and love, was not coming easy to Ben. That was, until he saw Michael on the stair case.

Prince Ben had allowed Emmett to pick his wardrobe and Emmett had done a fine job. His hair had been combed back into a stylish coif, ended with a simple plait of his hair. He wore a striking blue blazer to match his eyes. But he paled in comparison to Michael. He had forgotten what grand things were in this castle.

Michael wore something he had found in a room adjacent to his own. The door had required some force, but the dust and cobwebs had been worth finding the gold-plaited cuffs on the simple white shirt which had glowed against his skin. Daphne had found a striking red silk tie to match, deep swirling reds that Michael could have sworn wore a hint of brown to them.

When they finally made it into the ballroom after a simple dinner of winter stew and crusty bread, Ben found that his hands were shaking when Michael took them in his own. Michael looked up at Prince Ben and smiled, causing Ben to gulp. He had taught Michael to waltz, but waltzing with Michael was something different, something unexpected.

Ben wondered if Michael could feel the change in his heart rate when he put his head against Ben's chest. Ben knew he was still cold and that he might never feel warmth again. That old nagging guilt about dragging someone down with him resurfaced and he thought about Michael's family and how they were sure to come, were sure to bring the village to tear him down. He both wished for and cursed that.

They danced until they were tired, resting on the balcony. It was a clear night, warm enough from the dancing to make up for the brisk, diamond-studded sky.

"You dance well."

Michael smirked, his hand reaching out to rest on the balcony. He didn't flinch when Ben put his hand over that one. "I had a wonderful instructor."

They sat in silence, neither sure which direction the conversation was going or should go. But they both knew where they wanted it to be. "Michael, are you happy here?"

"Yes!" Michael blurted out, far too quickly. "I mean, yes. I am cared for and have more books than I knew existed, but..."

"However?" Ben gulped. He was afraid of what might come next.

"I just can't help but think about my uncle, if he knew all that I know now and have seen..."

Ben felt relieved that Michael was simply worried for his uncle, and even Prince Ben could understand that. He would be frightened for a family member left in the care of a brute such as he was. "There is a way. There is a magic mirror here that will allow you to see him."

Michael furrowed his brow. "I thought you had smashed all the mirrors in the castle."

"All but this one. It allows me to see anything I wish, except for the one who might break the spell."

"I couldn't ask..." Michael shook his head, he didn't want to finish his thought. That night in the West Estate was still a sore subject for him.

Ben snapped his fingers and Emmett approached with the mirror on a rolling cart. "You don't have to." He reached for the cool silver mirror slowly, handing it to Michael with fear and reverence. "I'd been thinking that your uncle must think you too far gone now, seeing as how you haven't escaped me."

Michael looked at his own reflection, nodding. "You gave him many reasons to worry." He caught himself to late, looking up to see Ben gazing far into the distance. "I mean..."

Prince Ben shook his head. "Its alright. I...I understand. Do you wish to be alone?"

"No," Michael responded calmly before taking a deep breath. "I...I wish to see my uncle Victor, please."

The mirror glowed a garish light so that Michael had to look away just briefly. What he saw did not shock him at first. He saw his uncle, warmed by firelight. But then he saw the traveling hat atop his head and one of Brian's nags resting nearby. His uncle was pale and coughing still, in fits that surely threatened to throw him from any horse.

"No," Michael whispered.

"Is something wrong?"

Michael shook his head. "I don't know. He's still ill and not recovering. He is looking for me, I have..."

Prince Ben looked as though he were about to burst into tears instead of Michael. "You must go then. I...I release you of your debt."

"What?" Michael said shakily.

Ben bit down on his lip. "I could not live with myself knowing that I never repaid the kindness that you paid me. I give you your freedom."

"Oh...."

The air hung long between them and it was clear that Michael was torn. But he couldn't stay either, it would change him too much. His uncle did need him and that could not be denied. Ben bit his tongue that only five petals remained on the magic rose, and once they fell he would have no chance of being cured.

It was enough, to be silent. To have Michael kiss his cheek in gratitude and to tell him thank you in a sincerity which Ben had never known before. To howl as Milady crossed the gate, frightened from the echo of the howl itself. Michael now had possession of the magic mirror. Ben would never use it again.

Michael never forgot the feeling of riding hard the first time out of fear, but this second time was different. The air around him was warmer and he was floating through paths, criss-crossing the forest with the presence of mind that only loved ones possess. Everywhere he listened close, he could hear his uncle's cough, harsh against the wind.

Michael knew that Victor was not at home based on what he had seen in the mirror. So he strained for the true sounds of coughing and activity, the errant clop of a horse. And what he found both frightened and intrigued him. It started with a low orange light that bathed a portion of forest and then a camp of people, men teeming to work and prepare a battering ram from a thick, old trunk that might have been as old as the enchanted castle itself.

Victor was off by himself, worn once again at being the center of the fervor. He was leaning against a tree trunk and darting his eyes around nervously as though a spectre were going to come for him at any moment. Michael lighted off of Milady and approached slowly so as not to startle him and alert the whole camp.

When Michael's hand peeked through a low fern in order to tap his uncle on the shoulder, Victor nearly gave out a shout. Michael let go of the reins to cover Victor's mouth

"Don't shout."

Victor could not speak for a moment, afraid to turn as though it was not Ben but Michael that was the spectre. "It could not be. Not unless you are dead."

"Come, turn past this tree just here and judge for yourself."

They embraced for a long moment, Victor holding him hard as though Michael were going to escape. "My own dear Michael. Come, we must celebrate your freedom from that cruel place! We will have a celebration!"

Michael shook his head slowly. "Is that what all these men are here for? A celebration or for my freedom?"

Victor stood, dumb founded. "Your freedom, of course. I shant forget that cruel master or how he ripped us from each other so easily. I..." the words stopped there because of a succession of coughs that only Michael seemed to notice.

Michael led Victor down into a sitting position. "Come, my uncle, you must rest. Sit here. Its no wonder you were sick, coming after me so. We must get you home and rest for awhile."

Victor reached up for Michael's cheek. "Oh child, I can only rest now seeing that you are safe. To think of that man..."

Michael shook away the comforting, cool hand. "Don't think of Ben that way, dear uncle. You musn't. His cruelness was only a facade, a product of a life under the spell."

"What are you saying?" Victor stuttered out as a voice called for him, clearly from Brian who was leading the creation of the battering ram.

"Don't tell them I'm here, just get all these people back home. Please."

Uncle Victor knew it was useless to resist Michael's puppy dog eyes. He agreed reluctantly, with the addendum that they would "discuss this once they were safely alone."


	4. Chapter 4

But they would never get that chance. Brian noticed the little color coming back to Victor's cheeks with his hunting eyes. Victor could feel the difference in himself, as though his entire body was loosening and his heart was breathing regularly again.

"Good! I can see you have been to the fire and hope are doing you well again, Master Victor!"

Michael wrinkled his nose. He had forgotten the sound of Brian's voice, how slick and catering it could seem. He could see from his vantage point that Brian's arm was across Victor's shoulders as if they were old friends sharing a secret. But he knew better.

Victor was trying to search for words. "I'm doing much better, the fire helps an old soul. I just wish I'd not been so hasty."

"Nonsense!" Brian chortled. "You were right to come to me. You were right to rouse our spirits into rescue."

"But...But what if all this is the wrong way?"

Brian's arm slid off of Victor's shoulder. "What do you mean? And speak plain unless you rouse my anger as you yourself roused my spirit."

"Oh no, good sir Brian. Its not as though you are not appreciated, you merely flatter me with assistance. Its that I worry about this place we go to, this accursed ground."

"Well, if its fighting spirit you are worried about...what ho, great men come!"

A small crowd of men hearkened to Brian's voice, looking all the more like they were playing a great jest on Victor. "No, well, its just that I worry. All these men...perhaps a smaller band should go scouting first? Make sure that perhaps Michael is not yet on his way back already?"

Brian put his hands on his hips, encircling Victor. "Old man, are you telling me that you might have dragged us on this quest for nothing? You promised us booty and victory..."

"Now just wait, just wait a minute young Bri...."

But whatever Victor said was drowned out by the men, cheering and grumbling. It was a cacophony of confusion and thoughts of worry overcame Michael. The men were stirred, irrational. He would need to show himself. Many things did Victor excel at, but personal exchange was not one of them.

"Wait!" Michael's own voice sounded queer to him, as if stuck in his throat.

Brian turned toward the sound. "Do I hear a spirit in the forest?" For the first time, his voice seemed worried. One could be fooled into thinking that Brian might be the slightest bit superstitious.

"Wait," Michael continued, raising his arms as he came into the firelight, "I have found means of escape."

Brian slipped over to where Michael was, grabbing him into a bear hug. "Oh, you are safe, and we of the town were so worried for our pride and joy! Take heart, we will protect you."

Michael wrenched himself from the hug. "Protect me? Why do I need_ you_ to protect me?"

Brian blinked. "You were captured were you not? In a brutish castle, if your uncle's claim lies true."

"Have you ever known him to be false?"

Brian shrugged. "I don't know him that well."

"It does not matter," Michael countered. "If I am now safe, shouldn't we all then return to our normal lives and be in peace?"

Brian pointed in the direction that Michael had come. "Not if there is a monster that kidnaps the brightest of our town."

Michael began to fear for the servants that had been turned into objects. Ben could be explained, he might have been harmed less or able to escape. Michael did not want any of this on his conscience. "He didn't kidnap me. I traded my life for my uncle."

"An uneven trade."

Michael narrowed his eyes. "Watch your tone, Brian. I appreciate your rescue, but you act as though I am a helpless thing."

"You would not deny though that you are indeed flighty and all you seem to do is read all day. You do not marry nor entertain..."

Michael crossed his arms. "One might argue the same for you."

Brian arched an eyebrow. "Feeling feisty, are we? Well, if it were up to me, all this would be forgotten."

"Meaning?" Michael let Brian continue whatever thought was in his feverish brain.

"Meaning that I daresay find it a coincidence between your sudden appearance and your uncle Victor's sudden fear for our men's safety over our bravery for coming out here."

Victor moved, claiming the area close to his family. "What do you mean? We came to make sure of Michael's safety and he is now safe!"

Brian held out his arms. "And the assumption that he was never in danger..."

Shock broke out on Michael's face. "How dare you! An accusation such as that..."

"Let the evidence of your wardrobe and traveling clothes speak for themselves! What are you trying to do? Protect the finery of the castle? I say that your being kidnapped was the best thing to happen for the men of this town."

A cheer rose up from somewhere in the crowd and soon the campfire was a smoky, smoldering pile of charred half-logs. The battering ram was almost complete. The only things left behind were Michael and Victor, Brian claiming that they would try to disrupt the process of claiming the rich castle for themselves.

Michael first tried to struggle with the ropes and then sagged under the weight. He sighed deeply. "I should have stayed. I am so sorry."

Victor coughed. "Don't be. I shouldn't have trusted him. I had just hoped we would die of something more interesting than exposure."

Michael nodded, leaning his head back against the tree that he and Victor were tried to. "Almost did once before I left."

"You mean escaped, don't you?"

"No uncle. Prince Ben released me. He did change. Maybe it was the act of rescuing me from those wolves. Surely Milady and I would have perished if it hadn't been for him. If only you could meet him now...God, I wish there was a way..."

Victor struggled to free his shoulders from the thick rope. "If they haven't found Milady yet, perhaps she could chew through the ropes or run to the castle with a message. I mean, if we had something sharp enough to carve in the saddle, perhaps..."

"Thats it! Uncle, would the side of an engraving work?"

Victor shrugged as best he could. "I suppose. If its solid and sharp enough, most things are possible."

"Whistle with me then and let's hope they've not taken Milady! The mirror should be sharp enough," Michael cried out in relief that they were not stuck just yet.

Milady took a moment to come. Michael had bridled her to sturdy branches when he had announced his freedom from the castle, and it took the smart horse a moment or two to extricate herself. Michael took what was left of the reins in his teeth, leading the bulk of Milady over so that he could move forward and back along the saddle bag, where the point of one side of the mirror stuck out.

It took forever, too long to know if Prince Ben had been killed by the looters or not. Each second that passed put more time and worry between himself and Michael, so much so that Michael had trouble concentrating and only pulled him into the present when Victor strained against his own half of the ropes enough that there was a great snap.

It was painful, but enough to have one portion of Michael's side to wriggle free from. Extricating Victor only took a few moments more, but they were precious moments. Every sound was the crash of a tea cup. Every gallop was the rape of a dresser drawer. And every cough that issued from Victor was a gunshot into the heart of one of Michael's beloved books.

The place was alight and blazing with fight when Michael arrived at the gate, his uncle Victor riding in front on him on the saddle. Victor was tired and weak from the cold again. The excitement, illness, and age were warring for weariness. Michael was too focused, unable to feel his own racing fear.

There were two great crashes at once. The first came from the main hall. Daphne had fallen down, crushing a looter and sending a second through a large glass window with the turn of her sharp bronze arrow. A man ran out, blazing and covered in fire that must have encountered Carl. The scene might have been funny if not for what happened next.

There was a second crash from up higher where the turret was the vantage point of the West Estate. Ben stumbled backwards through the glass and down a portion of ceiling, out towards a gargoyle style rain gutter. Michael gasped, he could see Brian switching from his hunting arrows to a club that must have been part of a heavy oak table at some point. Thankfully, Brian had been oblivious to the rose as the next to last petal dropped off the pedestal table.

"He's going to kill him," Victor mumbled before fainting over the saddle, causing Milady to tilt and pitch Michael forward as well.

Michael watched himself fall in horrid slow motion. He found himself flat on his back as the last surge of looters vacated without a single prize. He wanted to cry for help or for sanctuary, but he couldn't help feeling that all this was his own fault in the first place and it didn't seem right in the least.

"You've got to go," Victor coughed, "can't let Brian kill Ben if he's just found his soul."

Michael propped himself up on his elbows, taking off his own riding cloak to try and keep his uncle warm. "But what about you? I can't..."

Victor pointed toward the open door. "The castle's not too far. Milady can help me to my feet and I'm not too feeble to make my own tea."

"But uncle.."

"Go!"

That was all the convincing he required. Michael scrambled to his feet and began to run the long, narrow passage to the castle entrance. He looked up to find Brian standing over Ben's crumpled form, stating something probably cliché and haughty.

"Ben!"

Ben's glazed eyes rolled over the side, towards the long drop of doom below. He saw Michael trying to raise his arms and the prince's attention before he gave up so completely. "Michael? Is it..."

"True love, how sweet," Brian hissed and raised his makeshift club for one last swing.

Ben took his chance, lunging his bulk at one of Brian's legs to throw the hunter off-balance. It worked but it took them both down to an extended part of the roof which would have been used in older times for archery and boiling oil defense. They tumbled, Ben and Brian crashing against old parts of the roof and ended with Brian climbing to his feet, dusty and wish a gash across his brow, just under his bangs.

Ben was gone, hidden in a shadow low, crouched and waiting until he could get back inside. He didn't need to fight to prove anything. Indeed, he was tired of being an uncivilized brute that toiled away, creating fruits of hostility instead of using his life to learn.

_Ah well_, thought Prince Ben, as Brian took a blind swing at a statue. _At least I've learned something of truth here at the end. At least Michael returned_.

"Come out and face me coward!" Brian hissed as he continued to miss Ben. "So what, pick on old men and then hide from a superior?"

Ben let out a laugh, followed by a long cough. He realized his mistake, avoiding the blow at the last moment. It did leave Brian without a weapon though, when his makeshift club broke the gargoyle and became wedged in the base of the statue. Brian lunged in fury at Ben, but miscalculated. He scrambled to reach, barely grabbing the edge and swinging. He yelled, a high pitched yelp for help.

Ben stood, swaying and exhausted. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand. "You don't deserve help from me."

"Wait." Michael appeared at the end of the lookout balcony. "Don't let him die. I know he tried to kill you, but you don't want that on your conscience."

Ben shook his head. "He only lives because of you then. I have no concern one way or the other."

Michael pierced Ben's heart with words. "You have a soul to protect, Ben. You are not a monster."

Brian was unprepared for Ben's strength as he was hoisted by his wrist. Ben winced as he felt Brian's wrist bend and almost snap. He turned his back once Brian was flung onto safer ground, looking at Michael. He walked away, as if in a dream. The last petal was wavering, but holding on the stem under glass.

"You...you came back..." Ben began, unsure what else could ever be as significant.

Michael held out his hand to help Ben up the slope. "Of course I did. I didn't say I was leaving forever, did I? Plus, the bookshop in town only has about twenty books and there is no way I would leave this library in your care, forever. You need me here," Michael smiled, his eyes dancing.

Ben was close to him, his heels on the edge of the slope. They stood there, Ben's hands over Michael's hands, not speaking.

Brian refused to be ignored though. "No," he growled from his place where he was sprawled from the landing. "I do not achieve second place. This is my father's kingdom and my inheritance."

He rose with the lightning of hate charging his heart and a sharp dagger from his boot grasped in his pitched hand. Ben barely noticed the swing, but lurched backwards with the blade when Brian went for a second stab.

"No!" Michael and Brian screamed as Michael grabbed to hold onto Ben but Brian had nothing to reach out for but air. Brian stumbled backwards, slipping on some wet tiles. Ben tried to reach for Brian out of respect for what Michael had asked of him, but it was already too late. Brian was beginning his three story descent into an abyss beneath the bridge.

Ben couldn't feel the pain of the dagger, just the burn in his lungs and the sorrow in Michael's eyes. He didn't mind dying at that moment, though, if it meant someone's eyes showed sorrow over him. Ted was there, watching. He watched the last petal fall as Prince Ben fell gently to the ground, guided by Michael.

"Wait a second, this isn't fair."

Ben chuckled. "It's appropriate enough. Just found you and now I get to go."

Michael shook his head. "You can't go. I need you here. Some of these rooms are still locked and I still don't know what fork goes where on the table."

"You'll be...you'll be..fine," Ben groaned.

Michael burrowed himself into Ben's chest. "Not without you. Not with everything I know."

Ben lifted Michael's head, cupping Michael's chin with his hand and then smiled. "I couldn't ever deserve you or warrant knowing as such."

"But I love you, Ben."

Ben's let out a breath as though he were going to speak and then he fell back, limp and still. His eyes were open, staring toward the heavens. Michael started to cry, pouring himself into Ben's chest. He thought that he might never move.

But as Ben's body started to lift from the ground, Michael felt himself moving back as though he were being repelled by the gravity of Ben's form. The rain that had started to fall was changing, the drops were sharp like glass but they did not sting or cut. They twinkled in a prism of rainbow shades. And they had a spectacular warmth to them, as though it were day.

Which it was. Night was passing and when the sun rose, there was a blinding light that moved through the drops of glistening rain. The world around Michael blinded, heat rising in a shade of white more brilliant than fresh snow on a cloudless day.

Michael covered his eyes until he heard a breath. He blinked as he moved his forearm away to find Prince Ben staggering down from his lifted form, scratches and pain and darkness lifted from his eyes. He extended his arm out, Michael grabbing for it and being lifted into an embrace.

"I love you too." Ben replied.

And they kissed. The sound of a trumpet somewhere moved through the forest, a wave of sound that exploded ears, a cascade of shattering glass following. Michael's eyes had been closed, but as soon as they opened, he saw more changes. Ben was holding him, exuding a warmth that made him feel like a purring feline.

Looking around, he saw the castle as a new place, repaired and restored to an alabaster glory that he had never known. Ted was still a clock though, peering out at them from next to the bell jar, which was empty of the rose but still in the shadow of the castle. He opened and closed his mouth quickly, looking away from the scene. He was still a clock.

But more voices and running came around as all of the servants came bursting into the place. They had been transformed, all of them, thanks to being in the fight in the main room when the light had rampaged through the castle. All but one. And when they saw, they gasped. Emmett broke from the crowd.

"Oh Teddy. Were you not in the light when the trumpet blast came?"

"Its okay," he said, holding back hysterical mechanical tears, "its better this way."

"No, no it is not my friend."

Emmett grabbed Ted much to his protest and walked Ted into the light, where he was transformed himself back into a soulful, brown-eyed servant with Ben's father's brilliant silver pocket watch gleaming in his hand.

It was then that there was much rejoicing that day and for many days to come. As bad as things had been, so much better were they then before. Michael and Ben settled into a life of mutual love and learning. The kingdom prospered and gladly came to know Prince Ben and Prince Michael as the two best men of the land as it was known.

There were plenty of festivals to come and plenty of dignitaries to meet. But all that could wait. For now, all that is important is that you know that Ben and Michael, and all of their faithful servants, did live happily ever after.


End file.
